Thursday, October 21, 2010

Like watching the reaction of the elderly woman at Denny’s Restaurant when a stranger paid for her and her friend’s breakfast. Her face lit up like a perfect Christmas morning.

Or the look of surprised realization when a child sees the bunny in the sky instead of just the clouds.

But this morning I was taken aback when, in an instant, what would normally be considered a day-ruining event became a wonder-filled celebration.

The rain had fallen suddenly and fully. Sewer grates and curbs were overflowing. Umbrellas were the uniform of the morning.

The gentleman stood close to the intersection, waiting to cross, dressed impeccably in suit and tie, lost in the screen of his iPad. A car driving a bit too close to the curb, without warning, created a splash that literally drenched the middle-aged executive. Most people who saw it happen visibly gasped in sympathetic reaction.

He stood motionless for a few seconds. He put his iPad in the inner pocket of his soaked suit, closed his umbrella, looked up into the falling rain and smiled. Then broke into the opening lyrics of, “Singing in the Rain.”

Most of those who had moments before gasped in sympathetic reaction now looked at him as if he were crazy. I just smiled, for a I realized that he had consciously decided to take a negative and turn it into a positive. His joy was obviously genuine, and I for one was thankful for it.

The rest of my day was sprinkled with smiles, every time I remembered the gentleman who turned a splash of unexpected adversity into a splash of unexpected joyfulness.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

In the real world of writing, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that it is a rich and dynamic source of storytelling. And whether you need to review art magazines or you can just sit back and let your mind put together a mix of unusual sights (or sounds or smells or whatever), just do it.

See it, hear it, smell it, then write it. You’ll be amazed at the wonderful worlds where your imagination can take you.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

It was one of the more unusual statements I’ve ever heard an 8-year-old utter.

“I’m fierce. I’m bold. And you will remember me. Always.”

I asked her how she had come to proclaim such a statement.

“My mom always said that.”

“Said?” I asked her. “Doesn’t she say that anymore?”

“She died of cancer seven months ago.”

I told her how sorry I was about her loss, but I had to ask her why she said it.

“’Cause I want to be just like my mom,” she said with absolute conviction. Her eyes started to tear up, but after a few moments, she interrupted her gentle crying with, “I’m fierce. I’m bold. And you will remember me. Always.”

That happened almost ten years ago. And while I don’t know whatever became of her, one thing is certain … I do remember.

If you only had ten words to guide and motivate you, what would they be?